As breakfast ended, the postman’s knock was heard; and presently Dominique presented several letters to Mr. Hartley and myself. His appeared to be full of interest, from the attention with which he perused their contents; and mine, to me, were equally important. One was from my father, and it apprised me that he expected to get me placed on the staff of one of his old friends, a general officer, commanding a brigade of the army now advancing towards the Pyrenees; and the other, a formal notification of my appointment, with an order for my departure forthwith for the Peninsula, by a sloop-of-war, which was to sail on the third day from Portsmouth for Passages, laden with money and military stores. While I was reading my despatches, Mr. Hartley rose suddenly and left the room, to reply to one of his that required an immediate answer. More unwelcome intelligence never met the eye of a soldier of fortune, than the unexpected order to leave England now appeared to me. How differently the route for the Peninsula would have been regarded a fortnight since! Involuntarily I raised my eyes--and they encountered those of my gentle mistress. She had perceived that the letters I had just received contained news of no ordinary interest. I rose, and seated myself beside her, and gradually announced that the hour of parting was at hand. I need not describe the scene that followed. Those who have loved as we did, can guess it well; and fancy what the “cold in blood” could never know nor feel. Isidora’s hand was locked in mine; and my flushed cheeks, and her tearful eyes, told too well, how agonizing the first severance of love is. Suddenly the door opened--Mr. Hartley entered--he paused a moment in surprise; and, while she was covered with blushes, and I astonished beyond the power of free agency, he advanced and stood before us. “Soh!--what means this folly, may I ask?” The tears flowed faster down his daughter’s cheeks, while I, unconsciously, still held her hand in mine, and merely pointed to the letters that were lying on the table. Mr. Hartley read them hastily, and, without evincing any mark of displeasure at the discovery he had made, he beckoned gently to his daughter, and next moment she was seated on her father’s knee, her arms clasped fondly round his neck, and her head rested on his bosom. “Isidora,” he said, in that soft tone of voice with which he always addressed his favourite, “I have been already prepared for this discovery; and had I been unfriendly to the growth of an attachment which I have witnessed with satisfaction, I would have discouraged the unrestricted intimacy which has existed between you and my young friend, and which in youth is ever too dangerous to be permitted. I think I have known the world too long, to have any doubt upon my mind respecting this gentleman’s feelings towards you, my child; but, nevertheless, I will inquire of him whether I have correctly formed this opinion.”